


Silver Linings

by LadyMerlin



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Bad First Date, Blind Date, Eric "Bitty" Bittle/OMC (Mentioned), Fluff, Jack is a Knight in Shining Armour, M/M, Meet-Cute, Misogyny (OMC), NHL Player Jack Zimmermann, Supported by one Shitty Knight, The Author Regrets Everything, Why Did I Write This?, Why is the Rum Gone?, the Bad First Date is between Bitty and the OMC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-17 09:39:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13656354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMerlin/pseuds/LadyMerlin
Summary: “I’m writing a screenplay. It’s about this guy who never really feels like he fits in, you know? He’s just different. Always on the outside looking in. His parents are dead, and he basically saves the world but no one appreciates him because he’s such an outsider.”Bitty resists the urge to ask if he’s being punk'd, but it’s a near thing.Or: the one in which Bitty is never going to go on another blind date, if Jack Zimmermann has anything to say about it.





	Silver Linings

**Author's Note:**

> I've fallen head over heels for this fandom and I don't know what I'm doing, what even _is_ hockey, someone send help. Warning: This is 100% self-indulgent fluff. Beware.
> 
> Inspired by [this twitter thread](https://www.boredpanda.com/awkward-first-date-live-tweeted-coffee-shop-anne-theriault-toronto/), and also the [#worstfirstdate](https://twitter.com/hashtag/worstfirstdate?lang=en) tag on twitter, because sometimes fact is stranger than fiction, and because lord knows I've been on my fair share of nightmare first dates.
> 
> Note: edited slightly on 03/03/2018 because I’m a dweeb and forgot the pie in the oven...

“I’m writing a screenplay. It’s about this guy who never really feels like he fits in, you know? He’s just different. Always on the outside looking in. His parents are dead and he basically saves the world, but no one appreciates him because he’s such an outsider.”

Bitty resists the urge to ask if he’s being punk’d, but it’s a near thing. He also resists the urge to ask the guy if he’s got a lawyer, because his screenplay is definitely going to violate a handful of copyrights.

He’s actually pretty sure he’s seen this twitter thread before. His date hasn’t even introduced himself, hasn’t even asked for Bitty’s name, and he’s already running away with the conversation.

“That’s nice, is it anything I’d have heard of?” Bitty asks over the thread of panic running through his naval and into his chest, because his Mother has raised him to be polite and he has to at least try, right? Maybe this guy isn’t great at first impressions. His Mother always said he was a good hearted sort - he can manage a second chance, right?

“You’ve probably never heard of it. It’s not exactly your type of reading.” The guy takes his hat off and places it carefully in his lap. His hair is thinning at the top of his head, which is fine, but he looks about twenty years older than the pictures Lardo had sent him. Bitty regrets everything in his life that has led up to this moment, including his friendship with one Larissa Duan.

“What exactly do you mean by that?” Bitty asks, fighting to keep his tone even.

“Don’t be offended sweetheart,” and okay that’s so condescending, Bitty’s never going to call anyone a sweetheart again. “It’s just that the books are pretty complex, nothing a pretty thing like yourself would have read.”

Bitty’s jaw drops and for the first time in his life he genuinely cannot find the words to reply. He should have married Chowder when he offered, years ago. Then he wouldn’t have ended up in this position. Now Chowder’s dating Farmer and Bitty’s lost his chance. “I have a master’s degree in computers and electronic communications?” He replies, and hates that it sounds like a question, hates that he has to prove himself to this - this -  _person_.

“Sure you do, sweetheart.”  _Ick_.

It doesn’t get any better from there, and every time the guy - Chad, of  _course_  his name is Chad - opens his mouth Bitty wonders why he hasn’t just paid for his meal and walked out already. He finds himself getting quieter and quieter because he doesn’t exactly have the opportunity to break through Chad’s rambling monologue, and there’s nothing he particularly wants to say if he could.

The meal is mediocre and one of the waiters is clearly high, which is at least more entertaining than his dinner conversation, possibly more interesting than his entire dinner companion. The moustachioed waiter starts juggling fun-sized chocolate bars behind Chad’s back and Bitty finds himself stifling laughter when he peels open one of the chocolate bars, tosses it into the air and catches it with his mouth. When he chews, his moustache wiggles, and it’s actually pretty funny looking.

“Hey, hey, what’s so funny?” Chad reaches across the table and snaps his fingers in Bitty’s face. “That wasn’t supposed to be a funny story. Are you even paying attention to me? God, you’re such an airhead!” Chad snarls, smacking his palm into the table top. It’s loud enough to attract the attention of everyone around them and Bitty feels himself going red with humiliation, even though he’s done absolutely nothing wrong. He wants to get away, wants to be anywhere but here, surrounded by so many judging eyes.

“Listen, it’s been real nice Chad, but I think—“

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Chad snaps and stands up. He’s at least a head taller than Bitty and even though Bitty could probably hold his own, it makes him flinch away. “You should be grateful that I even came out with a twink like you, everyone knows you’re only good for one thing!”

Bitty feels himself heating up and he wants to run and hide, wants to sink into the ground and just never come out because everyone is watching avidly like his life is a soap opera. He wants his Hockey stick with a desperation that surprises even him, so he can lob this guy’s head right off his hairy neck, what the  _heck_.

“Is there a problem?” a voice comes from behind him, and oh  _god_  his humiliation has reached new heights, he didn’t think this could ever happen to him, but he  _really_  wants to be invisible right now.

“No,” Chad starts, nose literally stuck straight up in the air and for a second it looks like snobbery. And then Bitty turns around and realises it’s actually because the guy who’s just stepped in is

  1. Not a waiter;
  2. Even taller than Chad; and
  3. Captain of the Providence Falconers, Jack Zimmermann.



Bitty’s jaw drops and he sees the moustachioed waiter wink and grin at him from the corner of his eye. Bitty has to take a deep breath to make sure he’s getting enough oxygen to his brain and that this isn’t some sort of embarrassment-related hallucination.

“Mr Zimmermann?” Bitty squeaks and the giant looks down at him and then steps back to put a hand on his chair, as if to draw it back. Thankfully manners have been deeply engrained into Bitty’s psyche, so he manages to get to his feet as smoothly as if it had been planned, and doesn’t fall flat on his face because he can’t feel his own knees.

“You know this guy, Eric?” Chad asks, suddenly looking concerned. Not even for Bitty, he thinks uncharitably. He’s probably just concerned for himself and his non-existent reputation.

Still, the question is so stupid that Bitty wrings his hands a little. “Jack Zimmermann?” He hisses because really, this is embarrassing. “ _The_  Jack Zimmermann?”

“There’s no need for that now,” Jack chirps gently, smiling down at him and oh lord he’s really smiling down, he’s so tall, Bitty feels a little faint. He suddenly understands why all those Southern belles fanned themselves when faced with handsome gentlemen; Bitty feels like he’s going to explode from over-heating.

“I’ve been having a difficult day, Mr Zimmermann, you shouldn’t chirp so,” Bitty says, and it’s difficult to keep the flirtation from his voice when the man is so clearly receptive to it, oh god. Oh god he’s flirting with Jack Zimmermann.

“You a fan of the Falconers?” He asks, still not paying any attention to the spluttering man across the table from Bitty.

Bitty grins. “I played NCAA and I graduated from Samwell a couple of years ago, it’s practically a prerequisite for admission.”

“Oh you’re Eric Bittle! Tater and I had a bet on who’d be faster, you or the guy from Yale, the one with orange hair.”

“Markle, you mean?” Bitty asks, desperately pretending he isn’t on the verge of losing his entire  _shit_  because Jack fucking Zimmermann knows who  _he_  is.

“Yeah, him. I mean, both of you are small for Hockey but the larger players are always slower, so.” Zimmermann shrugs and ducks his head, and it's... it's unfairly endearing. 

“Who won?” Bitty asks, not because he particularly wants to know whether he'd been the winning bet, but because either way it meant that Jack Zimmermann had noticed him! Eric Bittle!

“Tater made me dinner for three days before I absolved him of his duties. I wasn’t sure if he was deliberately trying to kill me or whether it was just a side-effect. Thanks to your win, we’ve mostly concluded the brains versus brawn debate.” It boggles Bitty’s mind that Jack is siding with Bitty against Alexei heckin’ Mashkov in a battle of the sizes, what the heck?!

“Well you know what they say, it’s not the size that matters, it’s what you do with it.” Bitty actually cannot believe the words that are coming out of his mouth. He is going to die and then his Mother is going to resurrect him and kill him all over again because he’s ruining her only chance of ever meeting Bad Bob Zimmermann. Oh god, did he just say that? He didn’t right?

There’s a beat of silence, and then Jack snorts and covers his face and oh god he’s giggling, Bitty’s heart actually cannot take this, it’s too precious for words. He knows he’s grinning like an idiot but there’s nothing he can do about it, the smile is just bursting out of him without his say-so.

“Am I to take it that you’re some sort of sports celebrity?” Chad’s voice comes from behind him, and honestly Bitty had actually forgotten about him, which is something he thought would never happen. He’d expected Chad to haunt his nightmares til the day he died, but his head is too full of Zimmermann’s cute giggle to have space for anything else. “Come now Eric, you know better than to interact with muscle bound idiots like that! None of them are good for anything more than brute force; they’re practically a different species! Us intellectual sorts are too valuable to risk our minds on such savagery!”

“Excuse me?” Bitty finds his voice rising an entire octave. “If he’s a muscle bound idiot then so am I, Chad, and even then we’re both clearly smarter than you!” He turns to glare and Chad blinks stupidly, as if he hadn’t expected that.

“My name is  _Chaz_.”

“Of  _fucking_  course it is, I’m going to kill Lardo for setting this up.”

“You should stop calling Larissa that disgusting name. She’s clearly realised that I was the best option for you, Eric, you’re just a little high strung, you need a guiding hand.”

Bitty feels his jaw dropping for the umpteenth time that evening and he turns to Jack who looks just as stunned as Bitty feels. “I think need the cheque, please,” he says mostly to himself. “I have a friend I need to murder. Wanna be my alibi?” He asks Jack, pouring his usual cheer into his voice even though he feels like he could shatter any minute. He’s not going to cry in front of his idol. He’s not.

He melts a little when Jack puts a hand on his shoulder and it’s long enough to span across his shoulder blade, he’s so big. “I’d love to,” Jack smiles down at him and Bitty calls for the cheque.

The waiter comes over and grins at him through his bushy moustache. “It’s on the house my dude; I haven’t had such an entertaining night in years.”

It’s clearly good natured so Bitty grins back (up - he played college Hockey, he should have been used to it, but what’s with all these tall people?) at him. “Glad you’re so entertained at my expense, brah. I’m going to have nightmares.”

“Thanks Shits,” Jack says when the waiter opens the door and blocks them from Chad’s – Chaz’s line of sight, who is still sputtering in disbelief at the table.

“No problem Jackabelle. Send my love to Bad Bob.”

“Not my mom?” Jack asks, and Bitty’s eyes go wide when he realises that they’re talking about Jack’s family, that the waiter somehow knows Jack  _fucking_  Zimmermann.

“Nah, your mom already knows I love her,” the waiter – Shits (???) – flutters his eyelashes.

“Okay, okay, enough, that’s my mom you’re talking about,” Jack says, but he’s grinning when he fist-bumps the man on his way out the door. His other hand is still on Bitty’s shoulder and he feels like he’s about to vibrate straight out of his skin.

It's cold outside, and he's not sure when it had started snowing. It had been clear when Bitty had first walked into the restaurant. It's beautiful, but he's terribly underdressed for the weather. He suppresses a shiver, and is quietly grateful that he chose to wear waterproof boots over his nice leather loafers, which wouldn't have stood a chance. “Shits?” He asks when they’ve been walking for thirty seconds, because it seems like the safest thing to ask, even safer than asking Jack where they’re going or what’s going on, because Bitty just doesn’t know what’s going on anymore.

Jack blinks at him and then grins shyly, and he’s so  _beautiful_ , Bitty could be cut by those cheekbones and he’d die a happy man. “His first name is terrible. So bad that he actually pushed me in a lake when I tried to use it. He told me his first name was shitty, so I’ve been calling him Shitty ever since. It kinda stuck, and he loves it.”

Bitty coughs to cover his laugh, but Jack’s still smiling shyly so he breaks and lets it out, laughing into the cool evening. “Oh god, I’m just imagining that Mr Zimmermann, your friend pushing you straight off a pier into a lake.”

“Jack, please,” he says and Bitty feels his face light up like a beacon.

“I’m Bitty,” he replies stupidly, because oh god oh god _oh god_.

“Not Eric?”

“I go by Bitty with my friends. Last name is Bittle, so, y’know.”

Jack nods solemnly, though his humour is still shining in his eyes. “Hockey nickname, eh?”

“I’d ask if you understood but I happen to be aware there’s an internet poll to find a nickname for you that you like, so clearly you don’t know that you’re not supposed to like your Hockey nickname. It just is!”

Jack covers his mouth with a hand when he strokes his jaw, looks like he’s considering this even though he’s obviously smiling. “I dunno, Shitty seems to like his.”

“Hm. I have a friend named Larissa who’s Hockey nickname is Lardo, I’m still not sure which one is worse...”

“A friend or a  _friend_?” Jack asks, emphasising the second in that way people always did with insinuations.

Bitty sputters. “Darlin’,” he lets out his most charming accent, letting it curl around the words in his mouth. “I’m queerer than a three dollar bill. There’s no question of Lardo being that kind of friend. Besides, I’m pretty sure she has some sort of unholy relationship with her paintbrushes and easel. I’d be too afraid that I’d wake up one day to find her summoning a demon with my blood. I love her dearly but she’s terrifying.”

“Is that why you agreed to this blind date?” Jack asks, and Bitty blinks.

“Yes, amongst other things, but how did you know that?”

Jack blushes again, as if he’s realised he just gave something away. “Don’t be mad, but Shitty called me when it looked like you needed help. I’d just dropped him off to work and I was on my way to the rink and he called me back. He’d have stepped in himself but the manager knows his dad and, well. He needs this job. He didn’t give me any details, he just said it looked like you needed an out.”

Bitty’s covering his face because oh  _lord_ , that’s embarrassing isn’t it? It’s humiliating, he’s such an idiot, he can’t even get out of a bad date on his own and now—

“Hey, are you alright? I hope I didn’t offend you?”

Bitty scoffs and to his horror it sounds a little wet. “Don’t be ridiculous Mr Zimmermann. I’m just a little embarrassed now, I was such a mess I couldn’t even find the words to stand up for myself. I’m not usually like that, you know?”

Jack grins. “Oddly enough, I can tell. But you shouldn’t be embarrassed. Sometimes people can just find all the wrong buttons to press and it gets under your skin in a way you would never expect.”

“Yeah,” Bitty replies, because that’s exactly what had happened. It’s not like Bitty’s never dealt with idiots before, of the homophobic sort or otherwise.

“I love Hockey, but it’s not the best place for people who are different.” Jack’s standing right there and his hand is still on Bitty’s shoulder, but he sounds like he’s far, far away. For a split second Bitty wonders if he’s supposed to take that as a warning, that  _he’s_  too different to fit into Hockey, but that doesn’t sound right coming from a guy who’d just rescued him from the worst date ever.

And then it occurs to him that Jack’s talking about himself, and then he wonders if he hasn’t fallen and hit his head because surely Jack Zimmermann isn’t coming out to him, of all people, in the middle of a dark street, right? Surely not. Right? No way. He’s just jumping to conclusions. Wishful thinking, and all that.

Then Jack blinks and looks back at him and he looks so alone that Bitty can’t help his next actions. He steps closer to Jack, closer than they’d already been walking, and bumps Jack’s thigh with his own in a tiny check. Jack doesn’t even budge because he’s a giant, but he turns to face Bitty and smiles. He’s got the sweetest dimples nestled into the corners of his mouth and Bitty dies a little death right there on the sidewalk.

“I’d hug you but I’m not sure you’re not being followed by paparazzi right now.”

“I’m not that famous,” Jack snarks back and Bitty gives him an incredulous stare. “I’m not, really.”

“I could name you ten of my personal friends who would lose their shit if they met you right now. Off the top of my head. Also I’m pretty sure my mom has a crush on your dad. She’s going to kill me for saying that, but it’s true.”

Jack’s nose is wrinkled up and he looks just as cute as he did when he was smiling and blushing with dimples and the whole shebang. Then he shrugs and he’s really too cute to be legal, it’s unfair. “I wish I wasn’t, because it’s clearly preventing me from getting hugged by this adorable Hockey forward, and it kinda sucks.”

Bitty thinks he could light up a house from how brightly he must be glowing. That is absolutely flirtation, there’s really no question about it. “If you want a hug, you could always come back to my apartment. I’ve got all the fixings for a pie and it won’t take me ten minutes to stick in the oven. I’ve always been told my pies are as good as hugs in food form, whatever the heck that means.”

“You bake?” Jack asks, which is an obvious evasion.

“Like a fiend. Especially when there are attractive Hockey captains I’m trying to impress.”

“Are there many of those?” Jack asks, faux casual, but there’s a real question in there. It’s tentative enough to actually convince Bitty that this is happening, that Jack is actually really seriously on the same page as him.

“In my experience, there’s only ever been the one,” Bitty replies, because maybe it’s okay to be generous with things like this. He thinks it may be too early in the relationship to tease Jack about being jealous, and then there’s a part of him which steps away from the rest of him, screaming because he’d just imagined himself to be in a  _relationship_  with Jack fucking Zimmermann.

Jack goes impressively red and covers his mouth with his hand again, and Bitty wonders who’d taught him to do that, to hide his smile away from the world. “I’m not really good at this,” he says, and oddly enough, despite the attractiveness and everything, Bitty can imagine it.

He’s an awkward man, almost a little uncomfortable in his own skin. Or maybe a little more anxious than the situation calls for. They call him a Hockey robot for a reason. He’s clearly trying very hard, but it’s putting him even more on edge and Bitty... Bitty sympathises.

“Let me be perfectly frank Mr Zimmermann. You’re invited to my apartment for pie and coffee and a hug, if you still want one. I’d offer that to any of my friends with no strings attached, especially after they saved me from a truly horrendous death by monologue. It’s really up to you.”

Jack takes a deep breath and then seems to settle, all his edges lining up neatly again. “I’d really like that, Bits.”

Bitty blinks. “You know, I think I like that one.”

“Well,” Jack says and he’s smiling like he can’t quite stop himself, a little helplessly. “That’s because it’s not a Hockey nickname, is it? You’re not obligated to hate it.”

And then, Bitty makes a choice. He chooses to be brave. “Maybe I don’t hate it because of who gave it to me?” He pulls his voice up like a question, but it’s not, and they both know it. Jack is really gorgeous when he’s blushing and Bitty can’t understand why the internet isn’t full of pictures of Jack looking like this, all shy and sweet and achingly young, so young that Bitty just wants to gather him up in his arms and keep him safe. Even though it’s practically impossible - his chest is so broad that Bitty doesn’t think his arms can even wrap around him.

“Everything alright?” Jack asks, and Bitty realises he’s been staring at Jack’s chest for longer than is polite. Jack’s deliberately not making eye contact but he’s still blushing and Bitty quietly wants to die, he’s too cute to handle.

“Honestly, I’m just trying to figure out the mechanics of a hug.” The words have left his mouth before he can even filter them, and really, maybe his Mother had dropped him on his head as a child, that would make so much sense, why is he so awkward?

Jack covers his mouth again and really, any minute now Bitty’s going to hold his hands away just so he can see the man smile. “The mechanics, huh?”

“I’ll have you know,” Bitty draws out the words for maximum comedic effect, “I’m a Grade A hugger, I’ve got a blue ribbon and all, down South. The mechanics are an issue when I’m only this big,” he says, extending his arms, “and you’re, well.  _You_.”

Bitty’s only gone a few steps forward when he realises that Jack isn’t beside him anymore. When he turns around, Jack is shaking. He knows instantly that Jack is laughing, and it’s - it’s really an incredible sight, seeing all that pent up mirth in Jack’s broad shoulders. He’s got the quietest laugh and Bitty wants to make him laugh so hard it peals like bells in the quiet night.

As quietly as he can, the ground crunching softly beneath his feet, Bitty scoops up just enough snow to compact into a ball and throws it straight at Jack’s shoulder. Jack startles at the impact and then starts laughing again, a little helplessly, bent over with his hands on his knees, and Bitty is not offended. He’d have been a little, in any other circumstance, but he gets the feeling that Jack doesn’t get much in the way of laughter. So he crosses his arms and stands there with a faux put-upon look on his face until Jack is done laughing and still a little breathless with it. He’s the loveliest thing Bitty has ever seen.

“Okay, I’m done,” Jack gasps eventually, straightening up. “Sorry,” he says, clearly not meaning it and grinning at Bitty. He was right. Jack has a fantastic smile. “Sorry,” he says again.

Bitty jabs his fingers into Jack’s - disgustingly firm - abs and he twitches away, mock dismay on his face. “Mercy!” He yelps, but he’s giggling so Bitty knows he’s still playing.

“No pie for you,” Bitty says, sticking his tongue out at Jack.

“Do I still get a hug, though?” Jack asks, mock innocent, eyes gone big and wide.

“I haven’t yet decided, Mr. Zimmermann, whether you deserve a hug,” Bitty sticks his tongue out again. “It depends.”

“On the mechanics?” Jack asks, under his breath, eyeing Bitty sideways, shimmering with mischief.

“Well I never!” Bitty exclaims, throwing up his arms, feigning offence. “Never have I ever met anyone as - as -“

“As what?” Jack is suddenly very close to him, inches away and Bitty doesn’t even know when he got there, has no idea how Jack isn’t setting off every personal space alarm he has. Bitty just wants Jack to come  _closer_.

“Frustrating,” Bitty whispers but that’s not the word he wants, or what he means. “Infuriating,” he tries again, but that’s not right either. “I’ve no idea what you are, Jack Zimmermann, but I’m not entirely sure this entire evening isn’t some sort of fever dream.”

“That’s pretty much what I was thinking,” Jack replies and he’s staring at Bitty’s lips, and there’s really no other way to take the dilation of his pupils, and Bitty wants to reach up and  _take_  -

Thankfully common sense and reason prevail and they both freeze when a dog starts barking somewhere nearby. Jack huffs and Bitty can feel his warm breath on his face and it’s too much, it’s more than anything he could have ever imagined.

“My apartment?” Jack asks, under his breath.

Bitty shakes his head. “I’m ten minutes that way, and I’ve got pie.” He’s not sure what’s happening, not sure how he went from the worst first date in his life to this, to almost kissing Jack Zimmermann, whose poster had hung over his childhood bedroom for more than half his life. “What on earth are we doing?” He asks himself, because honestly he’s not sure.

Jack’s fingers tentatively curl around his hand and Bitty pulls back to turn his hand around so it’s easier to hold. Jack’s expression warms him as much as his hand warms Bitty’s own, frozen as it is from playing with snow. Jack goes a little still. “Where are your gloves?” Bitty shrugs because really, there had been more important things to worry about than his dollar store mittens. One of these days Lardo is going to string them through his jacket like he’s a child, but until then, he’s just going to have to deal.

Jack clucks, sounding very much like Bitty’s MooMaw, and then peels his own gloves off and jams them on Bitty’s frozen fingers. He’s not particularly graceful or gentle but it seems to be something borne out of haste rather than genuine lack of care, like he’s more interested in getting Bitty’s fingers into the gloves than anything else. They’re made of leather, butter soft and still warm from Jack’s own body heat. Bitty’s a little amazed he’s not radiating as a source of heat all on his own. “What about you?” He asks, stupidly, second later. It’s possible the cold has actually slowed his brain. He imagines his blood is flowing like a slush puppy.

“I’m Canadian, Bits. This is practically balmy for me.” Bitty glares at him, and Jack tucks his hands into his pockets in deference, because really, it’s damned cold outside. He pulls Bitty’s hands into his pockets with his own, and Bitty is actually going to die. This boy. This  _boy_.

Bitty’s apartment really isn’t that far, but they take their time, ambling slowly through the snowy streets. Bitty tries to remind Jack that he was heading to the rink but Jack waves it off and really, Bitty isn’t going to insist. They can go together tomorrow, if he doesn’t wake up and discover that this really has just been a fever dream.

His flat isn’t amazing but it’s alright, definitely nothing that a professional Hockey player would be able to afford, but Jack doesn’t even seem to notice. He toes out of his hideous yellow trainers at the front door and follows Bitty into the cold kitchen in his socks, and Bitty has never felt safer in his life, even though Jack is effectively a stranger. He’s just quiet and unthreatening and Bitty... Bitty loves it. He  _loves_  it.

“So. What first, pie or hugs? I say give me ten minutes for the pie and then we can hug.”

“I’m not really a fan of pie?” Jack ventures, and Bitty blinks at him. It’s a little funny how the look on his face has Jack visibly back stepping and tripping over his words until Bitty cracks a grin.

“Just kidding, Jack. Do you really not like pie?”

Jack huffs a laugh and then shrugs. “I like it fine, it’s just a diet killer. You know.” Bitty understands. Jack looks like a man who’d follow his diet plan like it’s a holy book, and his body shows the results.

“Luckily for you, I’ve been catering to the diets of Hockey players for years now, and know exactly how much I can get away with without busting a diet. We’ll have a convert in no time.”

It’s nice. It’s really nice. Bitty could make a pie in his sleep in the forest without proper utensils. In his own kitchen, it’s easy and familiar, and leaves him plenty of attention to pay to Jack, who’s watching him intently, perched on his kitchen counter.

Jack Zimmermann’s ass is on his kitchen counter, and Bitty thinks in any other circumstance he’d be losing his shit about that. It’s still a little strange, turning around and seeing a man in his house whom he’s seen a hundred times before on television, and it startles him each time, but Jack is surprisingly easy to be around. He’s quiet, and he asks unobtrusive questions. He drinks Bitty’s black tea with half a spoon of milk and no sugar, and seems to actually care about the answer when he asks why Bitty’s butter has to be room temperature and not melted or fridge-cold.

“I can see why you bake,” he says when Bitty slides the pie tin into the pre-heated oven to bake. “It’s really soothing.”

Bitty sets the oven on a timer and grins, because it’s so rare for people to understand that. It’s true. “The steps are always the same, and if you do them right, you always get the right answer.” For example, he knows exactly how long Betsy 2.0 will take, and exactly what temperature his pie needs. It’s reliable as clockwork.

“Teach me someday, please?” Bitty’s almost taken aback because of how sincere Jack sounds. And then it occurs to him that Jack’s not just talking about baking classes; he’s talking about a future with Bitty.

“Anytime you want, sweetheart.” He reaches out to Jack and then stops. “Well, now that the pie’s cooking, how do you want to do this?”

Jack ducks his head and looks supremely awkward all of a sudden. “Were you serious about the hug?”

“Jack, there’s only three things I’m always serious about. The first is pie, second is Hockey, and the third is hugging.” Jack slides off the countertop and stands there for a beat, looking uncertain how to proceed. Bitty decides to continue being brave, since it seems to have been working for him so far.

He steps closer to Jack with his arms open wide, and when Jack doesn’t flee, he goes for it, wrapping his arms around the middle of Jack’s chest, which is about as high up as he can comfortably reach. Jack tenses and then relaxes so imperceptibly that Bitty wouldn’t have been able to tell if he wasn’t hugging the man. Jack’s arms come up around Bitty’s back and shoulders, and his head tilts downwards so that his chin is pressing into the top of Bitty head, and Bitty feels their respective body parts slowly melting into place, closing up the tiny spaces between them. Jack’s chest is as solid and warm as Bitty had imagined, and when he presses his ear against Jack’s body, Bitty can hear his steady heartbeat.

Jack’s arms slowly slide down to the small of his back and then back up to his shoulders, gentle but firm in pressure, and Bitty feels like nothing more than a cat; like Jack is soothing him with every long stroke. When Jack breathes in deep, Bitty can hear his bones creaking, and for long moments they are silent.

“I’m bisexual,” Jack whispers, and it’s so soft that Bitty isn’t sure he’s even heard it.

“Sorry?” He asks, just to be sure, but Jack doesn’t seem to have it in him to say it again. Bitty wants to tip-toe so he can press his face into the crook of Jack’s neck. This sort of conversation doesn’t seem like it should even be spoken aloud, but he’s too far from Jack’s face to effectively whisper anything.

He detaches himself but doesn’t break all contact. He knows from experience just how unsettling that can be. Instead he stays in the lose circle of Jack’s arms while guiding the taller man to the sofa in the living room. Jack doesn’t show any signs of letting go anytime soon, which is honestly just how Bitty likes it.

He sits Jack down on the sofa and then nudges him back until he’s lying down on the best piece of furniture Bitty has in his entire apartment. There’s almost no contact between them anymore, except Jack’s fingers where they’ve somehow caught his own, and Bitty just knows that the man is going to be a loving octopus of a cuddler. He doesn’t let himself think about it too much; it might be the death of him.

He toes off his own slippers and then crawls onto the sofa on top of Jack, settling himself higher up Jack’s waist so they’re almost face to face. It takes a little shuffling but Jack’s hands are steady on his hips, making sure he doesn’t fall off. “Too heavy?” He asks, once he thinks he’s found the right position.

“Not at all,” Jack replies, just as softly.

One part of his mind is screaming about the fact that he’s cuddling a man in his own apartment, who’s little more than a stranger to him, someone he’s seen on tv but doesn’t really know at all. The other part of his mind realises that he hasn’t thought of Jack as a stranger since the moment he stepped into Bitty’s home, and it’s… it’s the nicest feeling, if incredibly strange.

“Alright,” he says again, and then leans down so they’re chest to chest, and so that he can rest his head on Jack’s shoulder and press his nose into Jack’s neck. Jack’s arms wrap around his waist and come to rest on the small of his back, and then they’re finally cuddling, curled up on Bitty’s sofa. Bitty can’t really believe he first met Jack only hours prior, because he feels as comfortable around him as he would with his lifelong friends. There's a small tuft of hair peeking out from the collar of Jack's shirt. It's dark and a little wiry, and feels really nice against Bitty's nose when his face is pressed into Jack's chest.

“Thank you for telling me. I won’t tell anyone, I promise. I’m gay, for what it’s worth. Most of my friends and co-workers know, but my parents don’t. I’d never be allowed to go home if I told them.”

Jack’s hands tighten around Bitty’s body and then relax. He’s impossibly warm underneath Bitty, and it’s really quite surreal. “My parents know about me. They took it really well, but there are other reasons we don’t... we don’t see eye to eye, I think. They’re great, but I think we’ll never understand each other. No one else knows.”

“And darling, you can trust that it’ll stay that way.”

Jack wants to know why Bitty’s being so nice to him, wants to know what it is about Bitty that makes Jack want to trust him, but none of the questions make it out of his mouth. He gapes a bit, and then thanks him, because there’s really nothing else to be said. He’s not even sure when he falls asleep, with Bitty curled up on top of him, breathing steadily in time with the beating of his heart.

The next morning should have been awkward. Really, in the cold light of day there’s no justification for two grown men, who don’t even know each other, to have fallen asleep while cuddling on a couch. There’s really no good excuse for it. Bitty’s got his phone with him when Jack manages to open his eyes, but he didn’t have it the night before. He’s still lying on Jack’s chest, which means that he did get up to find his phone, and came right back. Something about that sends a shiver down Jack’s spine. It would have been awful if he’d been the only one feeling this inexplicable closeness; it’d have broken his heart.

“Morning,” he rasps, after studying Bitty for a moment, who’s frowning at his phone.

Bitty blinks and looks up at him, and his face breaks into a soft smile. “Good Morning, Mr Zimmermann. Did you sleep well?”

It’s a chirp, Jack knows it, but he can’t help but respond sincerely. “Best sleep I’ve had in a long time.” He’d never put much stock in the theories about sleeping alone and sleeping with other people, but in hindsight, there may be something to it. Bitty’s smile goes even softer and mellower than before, just before his phone buzzes. He frowns at it again.

“Everything alright?” Jack asks. He wonders if he should be worried that Bitty’s taken pictures to post on the internet, whether everything he’s worked so hard for has just been flushed down the drain, but somehow he has faith that Bitty wouldn’t do that to him. Bitty’s scowl deepens.

“Chad’s trying to call me. Has been trying since yesterday, I guess.”

“Isn’t his name Chaz?” Jack asks, as casually as he can, even though he wants Bitty to forget about the guy, to delete his number and to pretend he’d never even met him. Bitty deserves so much better than a second rate dickbag. Jack knows he doesn’t have the right to an opinion in Bitty’s life, but he believes this, with everything he has. He ignores the vague voice in the back of his head, the one that sounds like Shitty, that asks if he isn’t volunteering himself for the position.

Bitty scoffs, apparently oblivious to Jack’s internal dilemma, and drops his phone into the space between Jack’s body and the cushions beside him, where it proceeds to buzz itself gently into the depths of the sofa. “I’m going to pretend I never met him. I’d pretend last night never happened, but honestly that would make this very difficult to explain,” he says, gesturing at Jack’s body beneath him. Which, really, is true.

“I’m still not sure this isn’t a dream?”

“Dream about bisexual hockey captains a lot, then?”

Bitty, who has a sudden and vivid (horrifying) vision of the Real Person Fanfiction he’d written about himself and Sidney Crosby when he was thirteen, blushes furiously. Jack looks utterly delighted by his reaction and Bitty presses his face against Jack’s chest so he can’t see Bitty’s face anymore. Jack’s hand right lands tentatively in his hair, and it’s really nice. His left hand is still resting on the small of Bitty’s back, and it’s hands-down one of the best ways he’s ever woken up in his life.

Jack’s rumbling stomach interrupts the silence a moment later. “Breakfast?” Bitty asks, grinning. Jack goes fetchingly pink and nods.

Bitty misses it the very second he gets up and heads towards the kitchen. Jack had been ridiculously comfortable to sleep on, for someone so muscular. He’d even smelled nice, like snow and clean skin and laundry. He’s going to miss it something terrible for something he’s only experienced once.

Jack pads into the kitchen after him, silently. Bitty can see his horrendous yellow socks from the corner of his eye, and he’s just about to chirp Jack for it when he notices the expression on his face. “You alright?” he asks, instead of whatever snappy comment he’d been about to make.

Jack blinks, and nods. “I know it’s not normal, what happened yesterday.” That’s true, Bitty thinks. “I know it’s not really socially acceptable but I’ve always liked, you know, not being alone. In bed.” It’s a perfect opportunity for Bitty to make a joke about it, but something in him tells him to keep his mouth shut. Jack’s saying something important here. “Not like a sex thing, but like a comfort thing.” Which is not untrue, but also a little disappointing, because Bitty had been wondering… then again, it wasn’t like men who were attracted to other men were obligated to sleep with each other, just like that. Jack must see something on Bitty’s face that makes him sigh with frustration and run a hand through his hair. “I’m making a mess of this.” Also true, but Bitty shakes his head.

“What I mean to say is, I know it’s weird, but yesterday was nice. It’s been a while since someone other than Shitty or my mom hugged me. It was really nice, and I slept really well, and I’m sorry if that made things weird.”

Bitty clucks and gets back to assembling pancake batter, because it means he won’t have to look at Jack while he’s blushing like this. “Don’t be ridiculous Jack. If you remember, the hugging thing was _my_ brilliant idea. If anyone deserves the credit for making things weird, it’s me.”

Jack huffs, and then actually laughs. He pads over to Bitty’s side and bumps Bitty’s hip with his own. “Can I help?” he asks, instead of continuing with the previous topic.

Bitty shakes his head. “Pancakes are easy, I’m almost done. I’ve got grapefruits in the fridge if you want some.” Jack obediently pulls two grapefruits out of the fridge and quarters them neatly. “Nothing else is in season, I’m afraid. There’s some preserves in the cupboard over there, if you want. Homemade last summer with Georgia peaches.”

They work in silence for a bit and Jack puts out plates and cutlery onto the table. It’s a little surreal, but Bitty thinks he’s getting used to it, now.

“Are you free today?” he asks, when the pancakes have been served and Bitty’s found his good maple syrup stashed behind the last of his Texan pecans.

Bitty shakes his head. “I’ve got a pretty decent schedule. I only have to get to work later this afternoon.”

“Wanna come to the rink with me?” he asks, and Bitty goes still with a piece of pancake lifted half-way to his mouth.

“To skate?” he asks, a little high pitched.

Jack rolls his eyes. “No, to watch me skate. Of course, Bits. You’ve got skates right?” Bitty nods. “Would you like to?”

Bitty doesn’t even have to think about it before he nods again. “Yeah.”

Jack grins at him, and Bitty thinks that actually, he might have to send Lardo a bouquet for setting him up on the worst date ever.

**Author's Note:**

> I've got two interviews and a first date tomorrow, and the interviews are as important as heck (I'm not too worried about the first date). Please pray for me. 
> 
> I feel like I haven't got Jack and Bitty's voices right, but I've edited this thing so many times on my tiny phone screen that I'm ready to push it out a window if that's what it takes to set it free. Take it, I don't even know anymore.


End file.
